Black and White
by cookiedoughicecream
Summary: Black and White. Hermione Granger liked black and white. In her line of work - she had too.


**Disclaimer**: I own nothing!

* * *

Black and white.

Hermione Granger liked black and white. Each the polar opposite - impossible to mistake one for the other. Purely one thing-no mixing of any kind. In her line of work, Hermione needed to like black and white.

That's the way work was. Black or white. Friend or Foe. Everyone and everything fit into one of those two categories.

There were no gray areas.

Those foolish enough to place people in the shadows often found that _they_ had no qualms with placing _them_ in the dark. Black or white.

Dressed fully in the former, Hermione cautiously sat down in an old, rickety wooden chair that was threatening to give way at any moment. It should have been replaced, but the Order's finances were not such that it could supply its members with such trivial things as chairs. One glance at Hermione's flat could attest to that. But now was not the time to be worrying about possessions. The meeting was going to start in ten minutes.

The first was arrive was, predictably, Oliver Wood. After being kicked off the Quidditch team for "blasphemy against the Dark Lord", he had found himself captaining a team slightly different from his days back in Hogwarts-a strike team.

They were the elite of the elite. Each chosen because of a specific ability, the five wizards and witches formed a formidable force. They took the jobs everyone else had labeled impossible. They generally concerned sneaking into enemy territory and either assassinating a high official or gathering information.

They had yet to fail at one mission. Even singled out, any of them could take five Death Eaters without breaking a sweat. It said something then, that each member's face was coated with a wet sheen.

Oliver slapped down the missions folder into a table that was just as old and rickety as the chair. "This mission is probably more important than all our others put together." He narrowed his eyes, turning his once jovial face into the now much more often seen serious demeanor of a warrior.

"This mission must not fail." He continued, "There is no room for failure. That option does not exist." The four members of his team looked back at with solemnity. Ginny leaned back against the pitifully small kitchen counter,

"What is it this time, Wood?" she asked warily, her red head bobbing as she spoke. Her once long locks had been cut to ear length-it was much more difficult for a pursuer to grab onto.

Oliver met her gaze, "We're taking Beautin's Point."

A grasshopper could be heard through the nearby window.

"Beautin's Point." Murmured Ginny, "How on earth are we going to take that? It's one of You-know-who's most powerful strongholds."

"I wouldn't really call it a stronghold," said Hermione thoughtfully, "granted, the place is practically swarming with Voldemort's supporters, but-" she cocked her head to the side, the window's moonlight casting an eerie shadow against the wall, "It's sort of like how the Mafia used to be. They had to have some 'legit' businesses to help keep up their front."

Fred snorted, folding his arms across his chest, "You-know-who hardly needs a 'front' Hermione. He's all _but_ declared lordship of the wizarding world."

"Yes," agreed Hermione, "but every government, whether democracy or dictatorship, has to have some kind commerce. He knows this. Beautin's Point is a way of keeping the economy under control."

Fred snorted again, "It doesn't seem to be working very well."

Hermione sighed, "We aren't here to discuss the effects of a dictatorship on the economy, Fred." She turned back to Oliver, "Go on."

"We'll be going under cover." Oliver handed each member a folder, "Learn your alias well. You'll need to know every detail." He waved his wand and a three dimensional representation of the castle encased city appeared.

"We are only the beginning stage of this mission. In three days there will be a "business convention", for lack of a better term. Richard Tiessen will be leading it."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. It was well known that Tiessen was one of Voldemort's largest financial supporters. It was also known that Tiessen was extremely paranoid-he was the only being who knew where he kept his wealth. With Tiessen gone, Voldemort's financial supply would be cut in half.

"We will of course, eliminate him." Oliver continued, "Our informants are fairly confident that with their leader gone, the people of Beautin's Point will rebel and take back the city. With of course, a little help from the Order." He looked at each member in turn, "I don't have to tell you what a large victory this would be."

Daniel Davidson, the newest member of their group, rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his slanted brown eyes dark with concentration. "We'll have to do more than eliminate Tiessen, won't we? Even if the people rebel, and there are enough Order members to handle the Death Eaters, there's still the fact that there's an anti-apparition jinx up, not to mention the Shielding charm."

Wood nodded, "That's your job Davidson, or at least the shield part is. You and Weasley-"they both turned to him, "Ginny that is, will be dealing with countering the charm. I will handle the anti-apparition ward-learned a neat little trick that will only let our men in-handy, that. Hermione, you and the other Weasley will be eliminating Tiessen."

For the first time in weeks Oliver grinned, "We leave tomorrow."

* * *

Once again, Hermione sat in a rickety, old, wooden chair. Only this time, instead of waiting in the comforting security of her home, she sat in the not-so-comforting gray halls of the entrance office. Desperately wanting to scratch at her uncomfortable business robes, but knowing a woman in her position would never do such a thing, she settled for clasping her hands tightly in her lap.

Fred, who was leaning casually against the wall across from her, was not looking an ounce nervous.

Hermione wanted to pummel him.

Seeing _another_ poor idea forming, she distracted herself by admiring the glamour charms that had gone into changing his appearance.

His hair and eyes were now brown, and his cheekbones less defined. He still had his tall, lean frame, although as he strode to gaze out the nearby window, Hermione noted that he carried himself more pompously. He looked every part the shrewd businessman who was used to getting his way.

Which, after Hermione thought for a moment, was probably not that far from the truth. At least, the truth before Voldemort took control over all of Europe.

She glanced back down at her hands and forced her posture to be more relaxed. Her alias, Michelle Holder, would be used to these kinds of waits. After Voldemort had come to power some three years ago, security had increased to a point where many people gave up on traveling. Death Eaters, disguised as "justice officers", roamed the streets.

Voldemort was nervous-very nervous. He knew that Harry Potter was not dead, but out there somewhere . . . if only he could find him.

Hermione didn't have the faintest idea where "somewhere" was. Harry didn't stay in any one place for more than a few days, and the last Hermione had seen of him had been at a Christmas gathering-four months ago.

She didn't know Ron's location either for that matter. Individual strike teams rarely knew much about anything outside their own. They often went into dangerous situations, and the less information they knew, the less information could be tortured out of them.

"Taylor and Holder!" a gruff voice called out. Fred and Hermione rose from their positions and strode to the door that the voice had originated from.

The voice belonged to a security officer. An attractive young man in his mid twenties, his eyes were glazed over like that of someone who does something so often that they don't really remember how or why they are doing it.

"Purpose for visit, Mr. Taylor." He said in a monotonous voice.

"I'm here for the convention." Fred said, making a show of looking at his nails.

"Estimated duration of stay."

"Well obviously until the convention is over and I reach a business agreement with someone." Fred replied in an exasperated tone.

The officer nodded, "Very well." He pointed towards a plain wooden door at the end of the small room, "Just step through there and you will reach Beautin's Point." Fred nodded and did as the man had instructed.

He turned to Hermione, "Purpose for visit."

"To attend the convention." said Hermione, trying to make her voice sound as bored as Fred's had.

"Estimated duration of stay?"

"Until I have concluded my business." To her horror, her voice squeaked, and her hands were so sweaty she was surprised there wasn't a puddle beneath her. Thankfully, the officer didn't seem to notice her lack of lying skills, and she walked on through.

* * *

Walter Davidson had two options: he could sit, and listen to endless droning, _or_ he could stand, and listen to endless droning. Either way, he was resigned to the fact that he would have to waste the next two hours of his life listening to _A Brief Overview of Proper Servant Etiquette_.

As it turned out, this "Brief Overview" was a five hour lecture discussing mundane topics such as: _How to Stay Silent in a Corner for Lengthy Periods of Time_, _How to Address the Businessmen You Will Be Meeting_, or his personal favorite, _How to Balance Three Trays of Food _Without_ Falling Over_.

Ah yes, this mission was going to be_ loads_ of fun.

Beside him, Ginny fidgeted restlessly, her now dark-skinned face showing signs of annoyance, "Honestly," she whispered, "couldn't they have come with something a little more… interesting? Servants! I mean really."

At first, Walter had thought his alias might be slightly appealing, but after learning that his job would entail actual servant work...

He was seriously beginning to consider murdering whoever came up with the ludicrous idea that they couldn't use house elves.

As he learned, many of the esteemed wizards that were visiting, seemed to think that house elves were less than intelligent, and that only a human could complete the required jobs to satisfaction. So because of a wizard's snotty attitude and the Order's lousy taste, Ginny and Walter were going to be spending the next few days serving, gathering, and generally "servanting" anyone and anything that needed assistance, all the while sporting a cheerful smile.

_Into the Mouth of Hell Rode the Six Hundred_ thought Walter idly, _Yes, but they had an army and swords. All we have are two servants and some frying pans.  
_

* * *

Oliver Wood was taking a _slightly_ more traditional approach towards gaining access to Beautin's Point. The rest of the team was using complex glamour charms and masquerading as people that were actually supposed to be there. Oliver was just plain sneaking in.

It was amazing really, how supposedly intelligent wizards could overlook the simplest of things.

Oliver was taking the sewage pipes.

Although certainly not glamorous, it was not as disgusting as he had first anticipated. Beautin's Point no longer used such archaic measures as an old fashion sewage system. So while the stench certainly wasn't pleasant and Oliver knew he would be in need of a good shower, it was fairly light work trudging through Beautin's Point's old septic system.

His mind wandered to his team. He chuckled at the thought of Ginny and Walter's reaction, should they have been the ones using the sewer. Ginny would have waved it aside, trudged through, and whistled off-key. Walter would have found the whole even revolting, and would have spent the entire time worrying about germs.

They made an amusing pair. At first, it had seemed that they could hardly stand one another, but after many talks, compromise, and a few too many drinks, they had come to be friends.

Hermione would have undoubtedly come up with some rarely used charm to keep the offending substances away, while Fred would have found the whole situation hilarious and would at the least crack a joke about the stuff they were wading through, if not throw it at someone's head.

_Or at least the_ old _Fred would have. Nowadays-__  
_  
_Plop_

Oliver Froze.

_Plip. Plop. Squish.__  
_  
Painstakingly slowly, he turned his upper torso to see behind him.

Nothing.

_Squish. Plop. Shuffle.__  
_  
Oliver narrowed his eyes, staring intently into the darkness.

Nothing.

Wait-a figure.

A rare beam of light illuminated the space directly in front the unknown shape.

Oliver only knew two things: it had claws . . . . and it was big.

* * *

What do ya'll think? I know,I know...I should be spending time on my other story instead of starting an entire new one! But when the bunny bites, he bites hard! Justa warning, I probably won't update this fic all that often, but it shouldn't be too long, on account that the bunny will have my head if I do.

**Now Review!**


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